


Best of Three

by many_stories_untold



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Murder, Mystery, Rating subject to change, mystery buddies, tags added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26127949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/many_stories_untold/pseuds/many_stories_untold
Summary: A vague threat towards Marta brings Benoit back into her life. Mystery in Benoit's life keeps her there.Updates Saturdays.
Relationships: Benoit Blanc/Marta Cabrera
Comments: 16
Kudos: 72





	1. Incitant

Meg had had a loss of three. It seemed she always did, truth be told.

The first time she noticed the pattern, though she had been sure there had been others, was when her father died. Almost immediately her mother had uprooted them both, moved them closer to her grandfather, and made Meg lose all of her friends from her old school. Lastly, for that round, it seemed she lost her mother as well since she threw herself into one fad after another. First it was the occult, then hippie culture, and currently her Flam bullshit. And she had quickly stopped acting like a mother to Meg, but more like a friend. Which is great when you are a younger teen, but Meg was mature enough now to see it had messed with her quite a bit.

From then on it seemed loss came to Meg in threes, always. To the point where if one bad thing happened she was sick with worry until the next two happened. Her cat died, Mom got them both into a car accident that broke Meg’s wrist, and Meg’s new highschool ‘friends’ started a vicious rumor about her.

She had ended up telling her Granddad about it when Fran and Marta had mentioned it to him. Meg had just been rejected from her first three picks for college, hadn’t applied for scholarships because her mother always said she would have it handled, and then found out that her mother had used her college fund to fund the latest and greatest Flam sham. Meg was sure that her mother had every intention of refilling the fund twice over with the money she made off of the new product. Instead Meg had ended up with no college money, and some lousy face cream made out of snail puke or some such shit that had given her a rash.

So it seemed the cheapest two year community college was in her future, as well as a mountain of student debt. Meg didn’t particular want to complain, she knew she was privileged, and lucky, and all that shit. But she was also pissed as hell. If she had  _ known _ she would have applied for the stupid scholarships, and saved money. She would have been more serious about getting a job!

“Welcome to life for the rest of us honey,” Fran said, and blew out a big puff of weed smoke. Her voice, however, had been sympathetic. The dogs barked somewhere off in the overgrown garden. It really had gotten bad when her grandmother had died.

“Wish Harlan would hire a gardener. A young, cute one,” Fran said with a wistful sigh.

“Maybe I could apply,” Meg had grumbled.

“I’m sure he would just give you the money if you asked.”

“I don’t want to do that. I love Grandad. I don’t want to be like Mom or, god,  _ Hugh, _ ” she copied how Fran said it when she was most annoyed with the eldest Thrombey grandchild. “I want to earn it.”

“Still, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind,” Fran insisted. Meg made a noncommittal noise.

What neither of them knew was that Marta had overheard them from a window that overlooked the garden. She had passed it onto Grandad, and then he confronted Meg about it.

Meg wanted to be independent, but she, like many privileged young adults with new found freedom, was just a bit scared. So, she had accepted his help, but insisted he  _ only  _ paid for the tuition. She would work for spending money, and for her books, and all of that. Fran had actually helped her get a job at a hotel near Smith that, despite not being her top choice, she liked very much.

Meg had never thanked Marta or Fran for that.

Which made her latest triptych of loss worse. First was her Grandfather, which was tragic in its own right, but she had been mentally preparing for his death for years. He was old. Sure suicide and a murder plot were never what she considered, but she actually found a bit of comfort in how that all played out because she was sure he would have been really pleased with the whole episode. But then Fran was murdered, and that was nearly unbearable. Fran had been her friend, had been murdered after finding Ransom out, and had been young. She shouldn’t be dead! But the loss of Marta’s friendship was the worst of the three because it was Meg’s own fault.

Her late grandfather’s nurse asked so rarely for anything, and had asked for such a simple, easy thing. Silence, that was it. Meg was asked to do  _ nothing,  _ and she fucked it up.Despite setting up a trust fund for Meg’s continued education Marta wanted nothing to do with her. Sure there had been the condition that Meg took care of Greatnana who couldn’t bear to live at the estate after everything (and blamed Marta, just the tiniest bit, for her son’s death. Even though she didn’t want to). Meg tried really hard to respect that. She still sent cards on holidays, and on Marta’s birthday. She couldn’t help herself. She wanted nothing more to be back in Marta’s good graces. Not for the money, but because Marta was her friend. She missed her friend.

Which is why, she supposed, she was outside of Benoit Blanc’s door.

That drive from her apartment with Greatnana near Smith hadn’t been bad at all even though it had been long, but it seemed now at the apparent conclusion of her journey that Meg was second guessing herself. She had been so sure when Greatnana had confided in her that this was the right step. She remembered how furiously Blanc had defended Marta before she almost renounced the inheritance, how pinpoint his criticisms of them all had been, but still she couldn’t get herself to ring the damned bell. Cards were one thing, they could easily be tossed in the trash, but this was what felt like a step across the line.

Fortunately, depending on one’s point of view, the issue resolved itself for her. Blanc opened the door himself with an arched eyebrow, and a piercing stare. “Miss Thrombey, were you planning to become my welcome mat as a career choice, or were you planning on coming in?”

“I-yes, yes, please,” Meg said. She entered when we turned aside and gestured her in.

Meg wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, or, at least, she hadn’t given it conscious thought. But she was surprised nonetheless by the utilitarian minimalism of his townhouse. With its neutral colors, and hard lines it made her think of a staged room of an interior design magazine. She supposed she had pictured, if she had thought about it, a more chaotic environment based on the man himself. This all seemed so… clinical.

She took the somewhat uncomfortable gray armchair he waved for her to sit in, but she kept her coat on. He sat across from her on the matching sofa. A glass coffee table stood between them.

“Am I accurate in assuming this is not a social visit?” Blanc asked almost as soon as he settled himself. He was leaned forwards with elbows on his knees.

“No, it’s not,” Meg said. “It’s about Marta.”

The change in him was instantaneous. He leaned back with a scowl. His eyes had sharpened on her at the sound of Marta’s name before what she had said seemed to had sunk in. Afterwards he had decided to look elsewhere. Out the window, for instance, as if the traffic on the street was much more interesting.

“I hate to inform you, but I refuse to bother Ms. Cabrera on you, or anyone else’s, behalf,” he said. Despite his accent tending to be warm, his voice was positively cold to her.

It threw Meg terribly. “No, that isn’t it! I’m worried about her, it’s-”

“Oh, yes yes, I’ve heard it all from the others of your kin, you don’t have an argument that will sway me, so if you could be on your way I am truly a very busy man, and-”

“Stop!” Meg shouted. His scowl deepened, but he froze in his progress to stand. “Greatnana wanted me to give you this.” She thrusted the crumpled envelope she had in her pocket towards him. Blanc stared at it, and she saw him clench and unclench his jaw. But curiosity won him over, and he took it. “How is dear Wanetta?”

“Varies day by day. Grandad’s passing has been hard on her. But the nurses Marta picked for her started her on a new medicine, so she has more good days than before,” Meg said. Truly, the whole fiasco had really caused a spike in Greatnana’s dementia. Meg was dreading the next group of threes that came for her as she was sure it was going to have to do with Greatnana.

Blanc scanned over the letter of which Meg was not positive of its contents. “She told you all of this?” Blanc asked, and waved the letter about. Meg shrugged helplessly.

“There are days where she demands I go to the estate to warn her, days where she tells me to file a police report because Marta killed her son, and days were she is convinced Grandad is still alive. But she has said some version of that enough times, and wrote it down that I thought I should bring it to you.”

Blanc nodded his head, and tapped the letter against his leg. He rubbed his mouth with his free hand while looking out the window. Thinking, she was sure. It was fall again, nearly a year after the inciting events at the estate, and the last any of them had really seen each other was at Ransom’s trial in winter.

“I can pay you,” Meg finally said when she couldn’t stand the silence any more. “I’ll get a second job, two more, if you-”

Blanc waved away her words, and her stomach dropped until he spoke, “Nonsense. If Wanetta is right then I consider it an extension of the Harlan Thrombey case. As such, I consider it a part of the initial investigation, and I am sure the young Mr. Drysdale’s original payment will cover it. Besides, I had half a mind to go look at the leaves turning, and get some fresh country air. Boston is quite the cacophony of sounds, and I’ve not had a case recently to bring me to a more rural avenue.”

Meg sagged in her seat with relief. “Thank you.”

“I’ll not be passing anything along either way,” he said as he stood. The warning against asking deepened his voice, and he fixed her once more with an icy look. Meg nodded even though her heart clenched with disappointment.

“I just want to know that she is safe,” Meg said, and stood as well. She recognized a dismissal when it came.

“Very well, I can manage that,” Blanc agreed, and walked her to the door.


	2. Ensemble

Despite Ms. Cabrera’s estate being so close to him, Benoit had neglected to darken her doorway since he had left after Ransom had been exposed. He had seen her at the trial, and shared a few pleasantries, but had had to leave post haste of his testimony thanks to another case that had brought him all the way to California. Since then he had had a handful of different cases. Not that he hadn’t thought of her, as he had at the odd moment.

The first had been when he had gone to a Denny’s to meet with a suspect (that ended up just being a witness), and had seen a child vomiting on the sidewalk on his way out (thankfully). It had made him think of Ms. Cabrera thanks to the juxtaposition of the vomiting, and the lying of the witness. He had wished for a moment that she had been present for him to muse outloud to, but then had brushed the thought aside as he continued to work.

The second time had been when he had had a case in New Mexico, and heard someone with an accent close to Ms. Cabrera’s own. Not an exact, but close enough for his brain to jump from the train of thought he had going. And, once he had recognized that his mental train had jumped the tracks, his mind supplied that the victim most likely had been killed by being bisected by a train. He had almost called her at the end of that case to thank her for providing him the breakthrough he had been searching for. He was 3/4th the way through that imagined conversation, and halfway to bringing the phone to his ear before realizing how very odd that phone call would have been (“Watson, you’ve done it again. Pulled the answer kicking and screaming from the unknown by its scruff!”). He did not call.

And lastly, least pleasantly, was seeing the last victim he had had. Their shirt had been several shades from what Ms. Cabrera had been wearing, and had been stabbed in the heart. The connection there was clear, and it was the fastest he had pushed her from his mind. He did not feel the need to call her about that, though he did give the internet a cursory glance to see what she had been up to when he had finished for the night. He had seen that her mother had gotten her green card (“Murdered Mystery Maker’s Heiress Mother Made ‘Merican”; and yes he had rolled his eyes at that particular title).

So, he felt decidedly off kilter as he pulled up the driveway towards what was once the Thrombey estate. For the thousandth time he questioned if he had made the right decision by bringing a plant. The manners his mother had drilled into his head told him yes. The fact he was showing up out of the blue after not seeing her for nearly a year was telling him no. Especially since this was not necessarily a casual visit.

He did wish he hadn’t let the clerk talk him into wrapping the plant up like it was on its way to spend an extended stay under a Christmas tree, though.

Almost immediately upon exiting his vehicle Benoit was accosted by the dogs whose names he had forgotten.Thankfully they had not forgotten him as their barking ceased the moment they got a good sniff of him. “Hello there boys,” he said, and gave each a pat on the head. “Anyone home?” he asked despite seeing Ms. Cabrera’s car in the driveway. Two, nicer, cars were also present. He worried that she had some guests already, and hoped that they were not unwelcome ones that might have once called the estate home.

The dogs led the way towards the front door, and Benoit followed them. He supposed he could do worse as far as escorts went.

He hesitated before the front door. After all, he could always do investigating without bothering Ms. Cabrera.He had already dropped by the police station nearby to give his regards to Detective Elliot who promised to pass it along to Trooper Wagner. But he was also aware how horribly impolite to not stop in if he were in the area, and especially because he was in the area on her behalf though she did not yet know that.

He, much like Meg the day before, was saved from the decision by the door being opened on its own. He had only just got the warning thanks to some irritated sounding Spanish on the other side. Then the door was thrown open followed shortly by a surprised scream.

“Ah, Mrs. Cabrera, my apologies,” Benoit said in his most contrived voice upon having startled Ms. Cabrera’s mother. He heard two separate voices shout out in concern.

“Marta your detective friend is here,” Mrs. Cabrera shouted back, and tacked on some Spanish that was too quick for Benoit to catch, but he was pretty sure there was a swear or two. She put a hand to her chest. “ _ Dios mio _ , Detective Blanc, use the bell next time.”

“Again, I apologize Mrs. Cabrera. You were simply too quick for me to do so,” he said, and gave her his most charming smile. He had spoken to her briefly at the trail, along with the other Ms. Cabrera who had just appeared in the hall behind them.

The younger Ms. Cabrera looked delighted to see him, and shouted some more Spanish up the stairs. “Alice,” Mrs. Cabrera hissed, and made a shooing motion to her youngest. “Please, come in Detective Blanc.”

“Mr. Blanc is fine.”

“May I take your coat?”

“Please, thank you,” Benoit said, and shrugged out of it.

“What is this?” the younger Ms. Cabrera said, and made to grab the present. Her mouth smacked her hands away in a practiced fashion that made Benoit wince from memories of his own mother’s swift hands. Ms. Cabrera grumbled in Spanish at her matriarch.

“It is for Marta, behave,” Mrs. Cabrera said with finality.

“Apologies. I would have brought you each something if I had realized you were here as well,” Benoit said.

“Your presence is a present itself. You are here for Thanksgiving, yes?”

“Oh good, Marta did invite you. I told her she should, that you probably didn’t have anyone else to spend it with.”

“ _ Alice, _ ” Mrs. Cabrera said again. Said woman held her hands up in a white flag that was hardly pristine.

“Not my fault she kept talking about it.”

Interesting news that Benoit tucked away for later.

“Elliot is here?” floated the more familiar Ms. Cabrera’s voice.It preceded her with its confusion. “Oh! Mr. Blanc!”

And there she was.

Ms. Cabrera looked good. Sure, he was biased by having seen her at what was surely some of her worst moments. The last time he had seen her in particular she had been shaken by Ransom’s testimony, and the general attack of her character by the defense at the trail. Furthermore she had been weepy by his impending departure.

Now though she seemed to glow with health. Her eyes were not sunken, or red from exhaustion. She seemed to have gain just a bit of weight. Nothing unseemly not that he would ever say if it was, but more that her body had started to recover from years of limited meals and stress. She looked the same otherwise, and wasn’t that a welcome balm to him. The fact she seemed delighted to see him despite his extended absence helped as well.

“Good afternoon Ms. Cabrera,” he said with an incline of his head. “I do hope I haven’t intruded. I noticed some other cars, and can return later.”

“Oh, those are our cars,” her sister chirped.

“She wouldn’t take no for an answer, and also refused to get herself something nice as well,” Mrs. Cabrera said with a roll of her eyes. “Come on Alice, help me in the kitchen.”

“Aw, Mama,” Alice said, but allowed herself to be dragged along anyways. Their depature seemed to pull all sound with them, and Benoit and Ms. Cabrera were alone for the first time in a year.

“How are you dear Watson?” Benoit asked.

“Well, and yourself?” was her polite reply.

“Well,” he said. They simply stood there before each other, and looked at each other.

There have been so few times in Benoit’s life that he had felt really and truly  _ seen. _ As the one usually doing the seeing it was disconcerting especially as he had not been expecting it. It hadn’t happened the other times, but, he supposed, the other times she had been distracted or highly invested on not being seen by him to do her own looking.

“Ah, a house warming gift,” he said, and thrust the plant towards her when he saw her eyes touch upon it.

“Oh, thank you,” she said, and took it. While she opened it he looked around the entrance. She had changed it, but there were definite touches of Harlan still present. It was clear that she had made it her own without erasing its past. “Mint? I thought flowers were more the norm. Not that I am not grateful,” she added the last quickly. Benoit chuckled.

“My mother always told me that a bouquet is for a funeral. A potted plant is for longevity, and one you can get something to eat off of is the best. A wish for full bellies while digging in roots, she said.”

“A nice sentiment, thank you,” she said. “We will put it in the kitchen. Coffee?”

“Please,” he said. Ms. Cabrera hummed in acknowledgement, and led the way.

The kitchen was humid, pleasantly fragrant, and loud. Both of the other women gave each other looks when Ms. Cabrera settled the mint plant by a kitchen window, and fussed over it for a moment to make sure it was comfortable. Benoit noticed both of them were quiet while Ms. Cabrera made coffee for him, and tea for herself. He could feel them watching, but neither said anything.

Ms. Cabrera brought the two of them to the knife room. Benoit was not particularly pleased to see she had kept the knife donut, but the room was greatly changed since then. The rug was gone, and the furniture moved where not replaced to give it a much more intimate, and comfortable feel.

“So,” she said as she sat on a rather large armchair that sunk decantaly as she settled. Benoit picked a slightly stiffer chair at a polite distance even as his attention was on her. “To what do we own the honor of world renowned Benoit Blanc visiting us. Surely I am not accused of another murder,” she said. Her mouth twisted sardonically, and his mirrored.

“Heavens no dear girl.”

“But it is not a simple visit, is it?” she asked, and looked into her tea.

“I am ‘fraid not,” he said. They sat quietly for half of their drinks before Benoit pulled the letter from Greatnana from his pocket. He held it out to her, and she accepted it. He had the displeasure of seeing her face darken, and tightened, and reminded him so much of when he had seen her in the past. “I apologize greatly for passing along such a horrible development.”

“Who gave this to you?”

“Meg Thrombey. Which is the only reason I entertained the notion of bothering you with it. Had it been any of the others I wouldn’t have opened my door to them.”

Ms. Cabrera hummed in acknowledgement, and set the letter aside. Her eyes were dark, and far away.

“Apologies if I am being a bit bold, Ms. Cabrera, but you hardly seem surprised.”

“I’m not,” she said on a sigh, and took another sip of her drink. Benoit looked at the letter from Wanetta, and remembered how it made his stomach clench at the claims that Ms. Cabrera was in danger from ‘unscrupulous men’. He couldn’t imagine how Ms. Cabrera was feeling at the moment. “I’ve had the odd threat, here or there,” she said at length. Benoit felt his jaw clench for a moment before he made it relax. “I’ve passed along all information to Lieutenant Elliott as I’ve gotten them. Or Trooper Wagner when he has been unavailable.”

“Has it been often?”

“No, not since Mr. Stevens passed along cease and desist orders to the majority of the Thrombeys.” Benoit nodded along to this information. All of it had been given to him already. “It’s mostly been fans who have believed what the family has said about me, and some... conservatives that dislike us for basically everything to do with us,” she rolled her eyes at it.

“You are taking it seriously then?”

“If I wasn’t before I am now,” she said, and gave a half smile to him. “Or, I am sure that you will make me.” He chuckled a little at that, and swirled the remainder of his coffee around in his mug.

“I hope I am not being a bother, or presumptuous about being here.”

“No,” she said, and then cleared her throat, and amended her statement. “At least, not a bother. Though, I am sure you have places to be tomorrow.”

Benoit squinted at her, and ran his calendar over in his head. “Tomorrow…?”

“Thanksgiving?” she said. “You can’t be serious,” she said when he continued to look at her a little blankly. “Did you not know tomorrow is…?”

“I, uh, hadn’t paid any mind to it,” he said, and tossed back the rest of his coffee. She stared at him.

“What do you mean you ‘hadn’t paid any mind to it?’” He laughed at her attempt to copy his accent.

“I don’t do much in the way of holidays dear Watson, aside from work. There tend to be a lot of interesting crimes this time of year. Case in point,” he said, and gestured around them. She shook her head in shock. “Though, I was surprised to hear I was meant to have plans this year if your sister is to be believed,” he said, and only felt the tiniest touch of guilt at the distress that flashed across her face.

“I assumed you would be busy, but Mama and Alice kept telling me to,” she cleared her throat a bit, “that is I had mentioned inviting you at one point and they didn’t drop it. We had been reading about your New Mexico case.”

“I’m honored that I had been considered,” he said quite honestly.

“Well, consider yourself more than considered. Now that you are here there will be no telling them that it wasn’t because I invited you, and especially since you brought the plant. I think it will be a good several days before they allow you to leave,” Ms. Cabrera said, and looked positively mortified by it.

“If I didn’t know that you felt you were inconveniencing me I would be truly offended you didn’t want to spend time with me Ms. Cabrera,” he said haughtily enough to make her laugh.

“Well, I do feel I am inconveniencing you quite a bit.”

“Perish the thought my dear. I had packed a suitcase anyways, and arranged lodging in town, so-- what?”

“You don’t understand, they aren’t going to let you leave the estate. Mama will tell you you must stay for dinner, Alice will make sure to provide you with some sort of alcohol so you cannot drive, and all of us know we have plenty of guest rooms.”

“Well, I suppose if I call the hotel I will be able to cancel the reservation without penalty easily enough,” he said. She sighed, and rubbed her forehead. “So long as this is completely fine with you. Fortunately I can lie quite handily to make my escape.”

“Please don’t think that,” she said, quickly. “It’s not that I am not happy you are here. I… I have missed being Watson,” she said. He smiled in return.

“I have rather missed having you as Watson.”

“You could have always invited me along, you know. I would have liked to see Wisconsin.”

“Been tracking me have you?”

“A bit,” she said because lying wasn’t worth it in this instance. “Alice really likes murder mysteries, she watches them all the time, and your life is basically one unending one.”

“Just her interest then?” he asked because despite being a gentleman he did have a bit of a devilish streak. Instead of risking a lie it seemed Ms. Cabrera decided to change the topic and save herself. He would have been proud of that if he hadn’t been so invested in her answer.

“You better call up that hotel if you want to save your wallet, Detective.”


	3. Travail Honnête

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have ten chapters written, and am going to set them to release on Fridays till finished, or, god forbid, I run out of written chapters. I do have it all planned out. I have only done minor proofreading. ayo. also please comment I LIVE to read people's thoughts.

“This is from Wanetta?” Elliott asked after he finished reading the letter. After Benoit had called the hotel Ms. Cabrera and himself had gone into town to see the fine officer of the law. Said officer rolled back in his office chair to his printer to make a copy. Blanc and Ms. Cabrera looked at the letter sitting on his desk. Wanetta’s tight, shaky handwriting stared back at them.

_ I think Marta is in danger.Walter, or… was it Richard? Linda divorced him good riddance. I never did like him anyways. But I’m forgetting what I was talking about. I seem to do that more and more these days. _

_ I think Harlan is dead. But i’m not sure. I’ll have to ask Meg. _

_ But I think Marta is in danger. I can’t remember why, but one of them visited me and I got a bad feeling and I think there was a reason why but…. _

There the letter trailed off with some squiggles. He was sure that if the letter had come from most anywhere else he is sure it would have been ignored. But it seemed Wanetta’s word still carried a bit of weight. She was the only one out of the remaining Thrombeys that was entirely without blame in the whole mess before. Benoit was glad Ms. Cabrera had provided for her care.

“Has there been any sort of news from Ransom?” Benoit asked.

“Nah, and we have been checking. Keeping an eye out that is.But we’ll start having cars drive by the estate more regularly. Have you thought of upgrading your security?” he asked Ms. Cabrera.

“Not… not really,” she admitted. “I don’t want to fire Mr. Proofroc.”

“You don’t have to. But you can hire some other guys too, an overnight guy, get some digital cameras. More of them. Alarms. A fence,” he said, and took a notepad out. He wrote down some company names. “These are the ones I recommend. I know some people there, or have worked with them before. Good people.”

Ms. Cabrera worried her bottom lip, but accepted the paper when he passed it over.

“We will keep an eye out too, of course, but every little bit helps.”

“Yeah,” she said, and folded the paper to put into her pocket. Elliott gave Benoit a look, and he nodded to him in unspoken agreement that he would make her call.

After sharing a couple more pleasantries with Elliott, Benoit and Ms. Cabrera headed to the grocery store at his insistence.

“You really don’t need to make anything,” she said for maybe the hundredth time.

“I most certainly do. Maybe they think you were going to be having a guest, but neither of us planned on it. I would have brought a pie,” he said, and dumped some more stuff into the cart. He had noticed that she had tensed when they had come in, but after a bit had relaxed. She got the occasional look from a passerby that made her tense up again, but it would pass quickly. “People botherin’ you?”

“At first they did, a little, but I am old news now,” she said. He had returned to her side, and had said it quietly to her. She said it just as quietly in return. He nodded. “You are letting me pay for this.”

“Bless your heart,” he said with a laugh. She made a face at him, and they continued on.

In the end he allowed her to pay for half since she told him she wouldn’t be able to look her mother in the eye if she let him buy it himself.

“You do remember I am a successful private eye, and not some destitute in the street, right?” had been his response to that.

They didn’t get back to the estate until about eight o’clock. The dogs ran to greet them, and escort them to the door.

“Down down Nick and Nora,” Ms. Cabrera said as they tried to see into the shopping bags. Benoit chuckled at them all, and a little at himself. This had certainly not been the plan when he had gotten up this morning.

“Where is everyone? In bed already?”

“Probably watching telenovelas in the living room, are you going to need help?”

“I might if you are interested in being my sous-chef.”

“I probably should since I wasn’t here to help Mama and Alice much.”

“Well, if you’d like to unpack these I need to get my luggage from the car,” he said once he set his bags down on the kitchen island. The rest of the house had an antique air to it despite Ms. Cabrera’s updates, but the kitchen was fully and unquestioningly modern. He seemed to remember that from his last time here. He was sure Fran had insisted upon it since she had largely been in charge of the cooking. If not directly then by overseeing it all come together.

Benoit left the luggage by the front door once he came back in. He discovered that the younger Ms. Cabrera had joined her sister in the kitchen. “I cannot believe she is making you cook.”

“She is not making me do a single thing. In fact she tried her truly best to keep me from it. But I will not have it say that a Blanc did not pull his own weight at a feast,” he said while divesting himself of his jacket, and rolling up his sleeves. “I don’t suppose ya’ll have an apron handy that I could borrow?”

“Here, sorry it doesn’t say kiss the cook or something,” Ms. Cabrera number two said, and tossed him it. He caught it easily, and donned it. And then the three of them laughed. It did not say kiss the cook, but it was a sexy waitress on it.

“I dare say I have never looked better,” he said, and started going through drawers to see where things were.

“Doubt that.”

“Alice!” Ms. Cabrera the elder gasped, scandalized, but Benoit only chuckled again.

“You flatter me, Ms. Cabrera.”

“Ms. Cabrera? Won’t that get confusing since there are two of us? I think you should just call us by our names.”

Benoit considered this for a moment. “I suppose you are right, Alice. At least my manners can allow it while we are all together.”

“Oh, say my name again,” Alice said, and Benoit laughed again.

“Well, if you are going to be in the kitchen to bother us, I am going to recruit you to the effort. That way you, Marta, can start making phone calls.”

“Aw, weak,” Alice said even as Marta protested, “It’s far too late to be doing that.”

“Now now I won’t be hearing otherwise. I want you to call each of those numbers Lieutenant Elliott gave you, and leave messages if they don’t pick up. You aren’t going to be getting out of it so easily.”

“Out of what?” Alice asked even as she pulled on her own apron. It had a muscular man’s torso on it.

“Where in heaven's name did y'all get these aprons? And security upgrades for your estate.”

“Oh my god Marta  _ please  _ hire us a nice, handsome, young guard. Phone out now quick before they are all snatched up.”

“You did this on purpose,” Marta shot at Benoit, who gave a little bow in response. Nevertheless, she pulled out her phone.

“I was remiss to mention, Alice, that it smells wonderful in here already. I cannot wait to try some of the food you’ve all prepared already.”

“Thank you, but say that to Mama, she did all the work.”

“Oh don’t you fret, she will hear no end of compliments from me,” Benoit assured, and then they all got to work.


	4. Le Banquet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that Marta and Fam are Cuban and Cuban American as that is what all the actresses are according to google. So I did a lot of research on Cuban (+ Cuban American) Thanksgiving traditions. If you personally are Cuban (American) and this is WILDLY incorrect please let me know.

Thanksgiving with the Cabreras was something Benoit wished he had gotten to experience before, and hoped to again.

“Alice,  _ no _ ,” Marta said. “Stop bothering him about work!”

“Oh, I don’t mind one bit darlin’ so long as you pass me more of that wonderful, what was it again?”

“Congri, my favorite,” Mrs. Cabrera said, and passed him the bowl. “And thank you again for making what you’ve made. You really didn’t need to.”

“My mother would roll over in her grave if she knew I attended a get together without providing a couple of her recipes,” Benoit said, and spooned himself some of the wonderful congri. Between the four of them there was a turkey stuffed with pulled pork seasoned with lime and orange. There was also pumpkin flan, chocolate pie (Alice tried to get that before anything else, but her mother slapped her hand away), rolls, and pimento cheese with crackers. Benoit had made fried okra, gumbo, and pecan pie. And, between the four of them, there was plenty of alcohol present.

Classic daiquiri cocktails in the southern style was what Marta’s mother preferred. Marta herself was drinking a brandy milk punch, while Benoit was enjoying a nice sazerac that was almost as good as back home. Alice was enjoying a bottle of wine that Marta picked out for her from the wine cellar.

All of them were getting a bit rosy in the cheeks.

“But, as I was sayin’,” Benoit said, and took a sip of his drink to wet his lips. “Turns out the murderer hadn’t actually killed him. You see, the shot  _ missed.” _

“But that doesn’t make any sense, how did he die then?”

“The very fright of being shot ended up giving the man a heart attack. You see, he had a weak heart. So while the shot did not hit, it still killed. The culprit was still charged, and convicted.”

“Wow,” Alice said, and looked at Benoit like he hung the moon in the sky. “Another.”

“No, no more,” Marta said sternly. “We are done talking about work for the holiday. Unless you want me to start talking about the times I’ve had to take care of--”

“No, no no,” Mrs. Cabrera said quickly. “Marta you know you are absolutely not allowed to talk about  _ your  _ work at the table if it involves bodily fluids.”

“If you would be so kind,” Benoit agreed. “While I am not unfamiliar with anything you’ve seen, I would prefer not to think of it while eating pork.”

“Yeah, alright,” Marta said, and laughed delightfully.

“So, how long are you staying, Benoit?” Mrs. Cabrera asked, and slid her eyes over to Marta. Marta went very still, and Benoit tucked all of that information away lazily into a folder in his mind.

“Oh, I’m not sure ma’am. Until I get this threat figured out, or until a case calls me away I imagine,” he said at length, and then took another swallow of his drink. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Alice smirk into her next bite of food.

“Maybe a while, then. How lovely,” Mrs. Cabrera said, and sat up straighter in her seat.

“ _ Mama-” _

“Hush,” Marta’s mother was quick to say at her distressed protest. Marta groaned, and dropped her head into her hands.

“I am sure Mr. Blanc is very busy,” Marta said.

“I can always make time for all of you,” Benoit assured (to Alice's roaring delight).

“How real is this threat, though?” Mrs. Cabrera asked. The mood got a bit more somber.

“We/re not sure,” Marta said. She lifted her head. “Maybe we should invite your brother over Mama. We have the room.”

“It would be nice to have a full house for Christmas,” she agreed.

“And Marta is going to be hiring a hot bodyguard for us all, right?”

“What? No!”

“A bodyguard might not be a bad idea darlin’,” Benoit said with a nod of his head.

“Yeah, especially since you’ve already got Benoit,” Alice said with a smirk.

“I’d hardly classify myself as a bodyguard.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Cabrera said with a wave of her hand. “That is why you are here, isn’t it? To protect us?”

“Well, yes, in a way. But I wouldn’t say I am the most well versed when it comes to physical combat.”

Mrs. Cabrera hummed at that, and let the matter drop. To Marta’s apparent relief.

“I will need to head back to Boston for a spell in the next couple of days. I didn’t bring nearly enough clothing for an extended stay. But, given the circumstances, I think it would not be a poor idea to remain in the area. If that is acceptable with the rest of you.”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, please stay! I want to hear more about your cases. I can only get so much from reading Harlan’s books, but hearing real ones from the source? Oh, Marta make him stay.”

“I doubt I can do that,” Marta said with a laugh. Her cheeks were more red than the rest of them.

“You sell yourself short Ms. Cabrera. I am helpless before the requests of such a kind heart,” Benoit said, and put a hand to his chest. Marta choked on her drink a bit. “But did you let dear Mrs. Cabrera know what your security improvement plans are?”

“Yeah we are actually going to hire some more guards, get a big fence around the property, and get more cameras. More modern ones that is. Oh, and Detective Elliott is going to have police drive by more often.”

“Those are all good. I’m glad.”

“We should take self defense lessons,” Alice mused into her wine glass.

“Wouldn’t be a poor idea,” Benoit said. He settled back into his chair, and cradled his drink to his chest. “Maybe learn how to use a gun.”

“Ugh, America and its guns,” Marta’s mother huffed.

“I want to learn how to shoot a gun. Marta, can I?”

“Ask Lieutenant Elliott about it. Oh, Mr. Blanc, this is fantastic,” Marta said around a mouthful of the pie he had made.

“Thank you darlin’. My mother would be pleased as punch to hear it.”

“Mama will you call Uncle Luis to come over?”

“Yes, I will invite him tomorrow. I’ll tell him to bring all the kids.”

“I will need to get a lock for the library,” Marta mused.

“I don’t know why you haven’t gotten rid of the knife ring,” Alice said. “It is creepy.”

“I was wondering the same, truth be told,” Benoit said, and slid his eyes over to Marta to gauge her reaction. She was looking down at her nearly empty plate.

“I kept it as a reminder.”

“A reminder? That’s dumb.”

“ _ Alice, cállate,”  _ Mrs. Cabera hissed.

“It’s just that she almost died because--”

“Alice!”

“Mama, it’s just--”

Benoit touched Marta’s hand, and she looked at him while the other two argued in the background.He nodded to her, and then she nodded back.

She saw him, and he saw her too. He removed his hand, and cut himself a slice of pie as well. He saw her and he understood. A reminder of what could have been, and that she needed to guard her kind heart a touch more.

The pie was delicious if he did say so himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In some of the upcoming updates there will be two updates at once. One will be the chapter, and another will be an image (when on mobile, for me at least, having the image in the fic causes scrolling issues). So enjoy the multimedia experience in a couple weeks.
> 
> also, starting next week I will be updating in the afternoons as I will have work. If that ends up being an issue updates will be moved to Saturday or Sunday.
> 
> Stay well, stay safe, stay healthy


	5. Le Premier Mystère

“You know, you didn’t have to come all this way to Boston with me,” Benoit said while they waited at a stop light. Seemed a bit silly to be bringing it up again so close to his apartment, and so far from her estate, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I know, but this way I can get you to bring me to a mall, and get my Christmas shopping done. I am very excited to be having Christmas at Harlan’s this year. Alice knows all my hiding places back at the apartment we were in, and she has no patience. She won’t be able to find where I hide them at Harlan’s though,” Marta said in a sing-song voice.

“I know a couple of stores that might be good. Or I could just record me telling her about some of my cases,” Benoit said. Marta hummed in contemplation. He glanced over at her, and smiled lopsidedly at how she was curled up in the passenger seat. “Well, we are almost there. That building up ahead is the parking complex, and my townhouse is just down the road.”

“Okay,” Marta said, and started to get her shoes back on. They were the same kind she had had a year before, but a new pair.

“I meant to ask, did you get those as a gift to yourself, or…?”

“No, the old pair got holes in the soles.”

“Holes in the soles,” he chuckled.

“Yes, well, I prefer not to get my socks soaked when getting the mail in the morning. So a new pair it was.”

Benoit nodded, but focused on his turns so he could get them into the parking garage safely. There was a spot on the second level, and then they were on their way. Benoit took the road side of the sidewalk, and offered her his arm when they got onto the street. She seemed bemused, and put her hand in the crook of his elbow.

“Have you been to Boston before, Ms. Cabrera?”

“I have, but not in a while, Mr. Blanc.”

“Oh, in that case I will have to show you the sights, my favorite restaurant, bar.”

“Maybe not the bar.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. We do need to get back to the estate before too dark. I would like to meet the new night guard.”

“Me too. I’ve only spoken to him on the phone. Alice did text me that she was happy enough with who I got though, so I guess he must be handsome.”

“You glad about that?”

“For Alice, yeah.”

The two of them rounded the corner, and Benoit steered them towards his front door. And they came across a young woman on his doorstep.

“Pardon me, can I help you ma’am?” he asked even as Marta separated from him. The women jolted, and spun around. She seemed to have been in the process of writing a note while using his front door as a table.

“Oh, Detective Blanc, I-- I tried calling first. But I didn’t get an answer, so I looked you up, and well, here I am,” she said, and shrugged a little helplessly. Blanc noted that she seemed to have been crying, and was looking thoroughly disheveled. “I was hoping to hire you, sir.”

“Perhaps we should go inside,” Marta suggested as some more tears started silently rolling down the woman’s face.

“Yes, yes, excellent idea Watson,” Benoit said, and fished out his keys. In short order he ushered the three of them inside.

“My name is Candice Kind,” Candice Kind started. Marta, having raided Benoit’s kitchen, settled a mug of tea into the woman’s hands. And then Marta joined him on his couch, and, like it was the most natural thing in the entirety of the world, picked up the notepad and pen that he had on his coffee table. Benoit glanced to see that she was starting to take notes for him as Canice talked. “I was going to hire you to find my sister. I hadn’t seen her in two weeks, but we talked everyday. I had called the police to ask them to do a wellness check on her three days ago. They said she was fine, but didn’t want to talk to me. But then today they-- I was told--” Candice choked up, and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

Benoit offered her his handkerchief, and she took it. Benoit took this time to look Ms. Kind over more closely. She was dressed in clothing that was once nice, but now had a worn down look of a woman who had hit economic hardship. She was not overweight, but she was not malnourished either. Her nails had been done sometime recently, but far enough back that they needed a fill in. She had curly red hair, and glasses.

“This morning officers came to my door to tell me that Missy is dead,” Canice finally was able to get out.

“How?”

“She was stung by a bee, and tripped going to get her epipen. But I know there is more to it than that.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. She was seeing some guy recently, but I never met him. She never even told me his name. But he must be some lawyer or doctor or something. He was always giving her expensive gifts. We’ve been having a hard time recently since our mother got sick. And she also told me that her neighbor was creeping her out too; constantly hitting on her, getting her mail, asking her out. She tried to be polite to him, but he just wouldn’t let it go. I told her to talk to the super, but she wouldn’t, she never would have hurt a soul Detective. But obviously not everyone is like that,” Candice said, and sobbed into the piece of cloth he had given her. “I know she didn’t die just because of a bee sting.”

Benoit leaned back, and rolled his coin over his knuckles in thought. After some thought he flipped it in the air, caught it, and dropped it back into his pocket. “Unfortunately, ma’am, I am on a case right now. As such, I--”

“He’ll take it. Where is her apartment?” Marta asked. Benoit looked at her with raised eyebrows, and she mirrored the look back at him.

“Oh, thank you!” Candice said, and surged to her feet to shake both their hands. In short order she gave Marta her sister’s address, the name of the officers handling the case, and her cellphone number for updates. Marta dutifully wrote it all down, and then escorted the distraught woman to the door.

“What in the world has got into you,” Benoit accused when Marta came back.

“She was so upset, Mr. Blanc.”

“We didn’t even talk prices!”

“Oh, I’ll cover it if it is such an issue for you,” Marta said with a huff, and tossed him the notepad. Benoit caught it easily, and looked over the notes she had taken. He sucked on his teeth because he did not want to be pleased with how well she had done wading through the worthless drivel and the nuggets of information. Then he scowled, and tossed it onto the table.

“No, no no. No. I am meant to be solving the issue of threats to your person--”

“We don’t even know if those are real. I do keep tabs on Wanetta’s health, you know--”

“Yes, but--”

“And we are upgrading security anyways. So, the problem is, for the time, solved. And Ms. Kind needs our help.”

“Our?” Benoit asked. At some point he had stood to stand over Marta. But at that he gave ground. She seemed largely unfazed by all of it, and just kept a haughty look on her face and her arms crossed. But at his repetition she smiled.

“I’m your Watson, am I not?”

Benoit let out an explosive breath. “Hell’s bells Ms. Cabrera,” he said, and ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. You win. Let’s get it done then. I would hate to not get you back to the estate tonight, and have to hear Alice’s conjecture on what we were doing in that time.”

That took some of the wind out of Marta’s sails, “I didn’t think of that. Oh dear.”

“Come along now, Watson,” Benoit said, and spun her so they could make their way to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about you all, I just got home from work and promptly passed out. So updates are changed to Saturdays. I also didn't proofread this chapter, but maybe will later. I just want to get it out!


	6. La Première Enquête

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright: two updates as one is Marta's notes and it is a pet peeve of mine when there is a picture in a fic and I am on mobile yada yada.
> 
> Second: there is a man with Down Syndrome in this chapter, and I did my best to make him a person and not a caricature if that makes sense? I have this whole back story in my head for him that didn't super fit organically into the story. Basically he had lived with his mother most of his life who had strong feelings towards things that mostly isolated the guy. He only recently got out on his own, and is learning a lot of the social stuff that he had been deprived of. However, if you or someone you know have Down Syndrome, and find any of it offensive PLEASE REACH OUT TO ME so I can fix it. I don't want any of my writing ever to be offensive, or exclusive to the 'norm' of neurotypical people (or straight people or white people, etc)
> 
> Also to the people that keep commenting: Thank you so much. It makes my day to get a comment, and really helps motivate me to keep up with this story. I know comments are not required, but it means so so so much when I get them.

“Nice place,” Benoit said just low enough for Marta to hear. She hummed in agreement. “Well, guess we best get on with it then. Please be a bit more mindful of evidence here than you were at Harlan’s,” he added, and then stepped up to the police tape that was blocking the opened door to the apartment. He heard her snort behind him. The hall of the apartment building was shabby, the exterior had been run down, but the dead woman’s apartment was full of expensive items. “Gentlemen,” Blanc called in to the officers milling about. Three separate ones stopped, and turned.

“Is that who I think it is?” one said.

“I believe so.”

“Benoit Blanc?” the third asked.

“I was hired by a Miss Candice Kind to look into the death of her sister, Missy Kind. I assume then that we are at the correct location? Unless there was a second unfortunate woman making her way to the proverbial upstairs today.”

“Ah, no, you are at the right place Detective. I guess you can come in,” the officer that had called him by name said, and approached. “I’m George Farmer.”

“A pleasure. This is my assistant, Marta Cabrera.”

“Cabrera, isn’t that the lady that--”

“My assistant,” Benoit said again. The officer shrugged, and continued on with his work. Benoit and Marta entered the apartment. “Single bedroom?”

“Yes sir. The body was over there, we have marked it out.”

Benoit nodded and took a slow look around the room. To the left was a small kitchen with painfully limited counter space. Space that was currently filled with a seemingly untouched dinner. There were two doors at the back wall. The one closest to the kitchen led to a bathroom. He presumed the second was to the bedroom. There was a kitchen table directly before them. On it were two table settings, and one glass of wine that seemed to have been untouched. There was also a bouquet of wilting flowers in a vase. The right side housed a pastel pink couch, then an entertainment center against the back wall with a television askew on it.

It was at the entertainment center the woman had died, it seemed.

The outline of a woman was interrupted where the rug had been bunched up, and the woman had tripped.

“She died by a combination of anaphylactic shock, and a head wound,” George said. “The bee must have come in on the flowers, stung her, and when she went to get her epipen she tripped and hit her head off the corner of the television stand.”

Benoit nodded along with the officer’s explanation, and heard Marta taking notes behind him.

“Why didn’t her guest help her?”

“She didn’t have a guest.”

“Of course she had a guest. Look at the two table settings.”

“They might not have arrived yet.”

“No, they brought the flowers surely,” Benoit said. He tutted, and went over to where Ms. Kind died. He squinted down at the outline, noted the bee corpse still upon the bunched rug, and looked at the wall and ceiling. “Ms. Cabrera, what do you see?”

“What?”

“What do you see, what do you see? Come, stand where I am, and look. What do you see?” Benoit said, and made space for her. Marta brushed by him and interrupted the smell of blood with some sort of flora perfume she must have put on that morning.

“I see blood on the corner there, and stains on the floor,” Marta said after a minute of looking. Benoit nodded, but didn’t mention to her how the blood on the corner of the television stand didn’t look quite right..

“Where was the head wound on the victim, Mr. Farmer?”

“The back of the head, off center towards the right ear.”

“Hm, thank you. What else do you see?”

“A dead bee?” she said.

“Look a little wider, Marta dear.”

Marta clucked her tongue, and narrowed her eyes in the area. Benoit cleared his throat, and, when she looked at him, he glanced pointedly up. She did too, and made some notes.

“What was Ms. Kind wearing, Mr. Farmer?”

“A black dress.”

“And underneath?” Benoit asked while studying the table. When he didn’t get an answer he looked up. “Mr. Farmer?”

“Lacy bra and panties. Red,” he said.

“So, Ms. Kind had a date, and judging by her choice of undergarments we can assume it was not a family member. Or, at least, we can sincerely hope it was not a family member. Pardon me gentlemen, might we bother you for some gloves?” Benoit asked, and made his way over to the bathroom. Marta followed him. Both of them were given some police issue gloves.

“What are we looking for?” Marta asked.

“Oh, anything really. Like this, for example,” Benoit said, and plucked three condom wrappers from the waste basket.

“Or this,” Marta added, and pulled out an empty pregnancy test box. She raised an eyebrow at him, Benoit frowned, and looked more closely at the wrappers in his hand.

“Seems odd she would use one of those if they were using protection, unless….Look here,” he said, and pointed to a very small hole in one of the wrappers. “I wonder if this was intentional, and, if so, whose intention. Anything good in the medicine cabinets?”

“No, just the usual,” Marta said. “Tylenol, bandaids, mouthwash. No epipen though.”

“We found the epipen in the bedside table,” Mr. Farmer said. Benoit nodded, and they moved on from the bathroom. Benoit followed Mr. Farmer to the bedroom to see where they had found the medicine.

“Marta, hand me that wrapper,” Benoit said, and took it when she held it out. He picked up a sewing needle from the drawer, and held it up to the light. He compared the size of the needle to the hole.

“So she did. Why?”

“I wonder if she was trying to make sure he would stick around,” Benoit said. “Candice did say that they were experiencing some financial misfortune. Perhaps this mystery man was a winning lotto ticket, and she was getting ready to cash in. Mr. Farmer, did you find a pregnancy test?”

“No, sir.”

“He could have gotten rid of it, after she showed him,” Marta said.

“Potentially. Did your coroner check to see if she was pregnant?”

“No, but I’ll ask him to.”

“And what security does this building have?”

“...That was a joke, right?”

“None then. Alright,” Benoit said, and went back out into the other room with Marta trailing him. “So, our first order of business is finding out who our victim’s gentleman caller is.”

“Candice said that a neighbor was showing an interest in Missy. Do you think it could be him?”

“Might as well go ask him,” Benoit said. “Have you talked to the neighbors yet, Mr. Farmer?”

“Not exactly. The next door is empty, and the one across the hall is distraught. A Mr. Mills. He is a, uh, little slow.”

“Mentally disabled?”

“Functional, but he does have caretakers that check up on him. Nice enough guy though, keeps trying to give us coffee.”

“Well, I would like to speak to him.”

“Of course, this way,” Mr. Farmer said.

Mr. Mills opened his door on the first knock Mr. Farmer put to it. “You do want coffee, Mr. Farmer.”

Mr. Mills had down syndrome, it was obvious enough just looking at him. He seemed to be late thirties, early forties. His face lit up though upon seeing two new people. “I would love a cup,” Benoit said, “If it would not be too much a bother.”

“No, come in, come in. John showed me how. John is my friend that helps me with things.”

“What a good friend,” Benoit agreed, and followed the man in. His apartment more suited the building. It was run down, but it was not dilapidated. “My name is Benoit Blanc, and this is my friend Marta Cabrera.”

“I’m Kyle,” Mr. Mills said, and looked shyly at Marta. “Do you want coffee?”

“No thank you,” Marta said. Kyle nodded and gave Benoit a cup. The mug said Down but not Out.

“Oh! I’m supposed to offer you a seat,” Mr. Mills said, and pulled out on the two chairs at his small table. He carefully pushed it back in when Marta sat.

“Thank you.”

“Very good manners, Mr. Mills.”

“John teaches me my manners. Missy helps. Helped,” Mr. Mills said, and went still with a frown. He started crying.

“It is very sad,” Benoit said, and grunted when Kyle grabbed him into a hug.

“Missy was always really nice to me. We used to get lunch together a lot, and John taught me how to be friends with a girl because my ma always taught me you couldn’t be friends with girls, but Missy was my friend.”

“Did you ever go over to Missy’s apartment?”

“Just with John, never alone. Ma always told me I couldn’t be alone with any lady that was nice, and any lady that would be alone with me wasn’t nice. But John says that I can be friends with anyone one so long as they were nice. I’ve been friends with John since the Fourth of July when Ma had to go into a place with a bunch of other old people. We visit her sometimes.”

“And you were never alone with Missy?” Marta asked.

“No, always with John. Oh, no, wait,” Mr. Mills said, and let go of Benoit to wipe his eyes. “No, one time I heard Missy coming, and John had shown me how to make mac and cheese, so I asked her if she wanted to see and have some. I put hot dogs in it.” Kyle started talking faster, and flapping his hands.

“It’s alright, he is just stimming,” Marta said, and stopped Benoit from getting up from his seat at the table. Benoit settled back down with a nod.

“She had a friend with her. His name was. Uh, his name was….” Kyle hit himself three times in the forehead, seemed to catch himself, and started tapping one finger instead. “Oh it was Peter Baker. I thought it was funny because that is kind of like Peter Parker, but with bread.. He let me see his doctor thing.”

“His doctor thing, Kyle?”

“The thing you listen to hearts with.”

“So this Peter is a doctor?” Benoit asked.

“I think so. It wasn’t Halloween when I met him. We ate mac and cheese together. But after that Missy stopped hanging out with me as much, and never when he came over.”

“Was he here recently?”

“Last night,” Kyle said, and then started crying. “I didn’t see Missy after he came.”

“Kyle,” Marta asked, “Can we call John for you?”

“He is already coming. Mr. Farmer called him for me. I don’t really like phones,” Kyle said, and rubbed his eyes. “He was stuck in traffic though.”

“But he will be here soon?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said.

“Mr. Mills, is it okay if I have Mr. Farmer sit with you until he gets here? Marta and I want to go find Missy’s friend Peter to see if he knows what happened.”

Kyle started crying even harder. “Oh no! Oh no you need to tell him, he is going to be so sad.” Marta was on her feet in an instant, and guided Kyle, sobbing, to the chair she got out of.

“Kyle,” Benoit said, gently. “Why is he going to be so sad?”

“Because of the baby,” Kyle shouted, and stopped hitting himself so that he could hold Marta. She rubbed his back. “Missy was so happy, and so excited, she was going to have a baby. She was going to let me push the baby carriage sometimes, and play with the baby while she cooked.”

“Kyle?” came a new voice.

“John,” Kyle cried. A casually dressed man came in. “John, he is going to be so sad!”

“Got him?” Marta asked, and John nodded. Seamlessly they transitioned him from one hold to another.

“I know big guy. It’s alright,” John said.

“We are going to make sure whoever hurt Missy gets in trouble, okay?”: Marta asked, and crouched so that she was level with him. Kyle nodded, and then pressed his face into John’s shirt. Marta mouthed a ‘sorry’ to John, who waved it away.

“Just ask the detectives to have all information go through me, okay?”

“Of course,” Marta said. “Kyle, Mr. Blanc and I are going to go now. Can I have the officers get you anything?”

“No,” he said, miserably. Marta nodded, and gestured for Benoit to lead the way.

“I think we should call Candice. Didn’t she say that their mother had gotten sick? Maybe this Peter Baker guy works wherever she is,” Marta said as they came out. Benoit filled in Mr. Farmer while Marta called Candice.

Once they got the name of the hospital they were off.


	7. Notes taken by a lovely Miss Marta Cabrera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Marta's notes, later labeled and filed with Benoit Blanc's case notes.


	8. Le Premier Coupable

The three of them, that is, Marta, Mr. Farmer, and himself, all stood outside the office for Peter Baker. A fascinated receptionist had led them to his office, and had gone in to tell him that he had visitors. They were allowed in in short order.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Mr. Baker said. He wasn’t a bad looking man by any means, but also wasn’t anything to write home about.

“Do you know a Missy Kind?” Benoit asked, and pulled a chair out. He angled it for Marta, and she took it. He took the other, and settled his foot onto his other knee. He started to roll his coin across his fingers.

Peter pursed his lips, and shook his head. “No… no I can’t say that I do.”

“No? What about a Candice Kind?”

“No. What is this about?”

“Odd, their mother Madeline is a patient of yours here,” Benoit said, and stilled the coin against his ring finger. Peter frowned, and clicked on his computer.

“Oh, oh, right. I have so many patients you understand. It’s hard to keep them all straight. Yes, Madeline Kind suffered a medical emergency some months ago. I can’t go into the details, I’m sure you understand.”

“Right, well we aren’t here to talk about her. We are here about Missy.”

“Look, maybe the nurses would have met the daughters, but--”

“We have DNA results back from the fetus already, Mr. Baker,” Marta said. Baker went still. He opened his mouth to say something, but then his phone rang. He kept his eye on the two of them. Benoit hid his mouth with his other hand. He would need to talk to Watson about proper interrogation technique.

“My wife is here, if you will excuse me,” Peter said, and stood. “Unless I am under arrest, officer?”

“No, but we have more questions, so don’t go far,” Mr. Farmer said. The good doctor nodded, and stepped out. “This our guy?”

“Not sure yet, but the fact he lied about knowing the victim is never a good sign. Oh, Marta, by the way, it is never good to play your hand too early in these things. Give them enough room to hang themselves, and all that. Remember, rainbow’s gravity will bring the truth to our feet,” Benoit said.

“Noted,” Marta replied.

Benoit started rolling his coin over his fingers again while they waited. He checked his watch. “But him being married and all speaks to motive. Wouldn’t have wanted his missus to find out about his affair. I wonder if Ms. Kind knew he was married. We’ll have to talk to the wife as well.”

“”Peter, are you ready for-- Who are all of you?” A smartly dressed woman said upon opening the door to the office. She looked at each of them in turn. “Has something happened to Peter, officer..?”

“Farmer, ma’am. And you are?”

“Mrs. Penelope Baker. What is going on?”

“Oh shit,” Benoit said, and surged to his feet. “Pardon us Mrs. Baker,” he said, and dodged around her. He heard Marta apologize when she bumped into her a step behind him.

“Lock down the hospital,” he heard Officer Farmer shout behind them. Then he heard Mrs. Baker waylaying the officer of the law so he was unable to follow them.

“Where is Doctor Baker,” Benoit said when he skidded to a stop in front of the reception desk.

“He just went to the garage, he said there was an emergency at home, and that he had to leave right away. What is going on?”

“What does his car look like?”

“A red lexus, Detective what is--”

“Thank you,” he said, and took off running again. He heard Marta behind him. He then also heard the shout of a security person as they sprinted towards the signs pointing to the staff entrance and exit.

“No running!”

“We need to catch Dr. Baker, he is a murder suspect,” Marta called back. He heard the guard start talking into his walkie talkie to close down the exits to the parking garage.

“This way Marta,” Benoit said, and caught her hand when she overshot a turn. “The exit is just up ahead.”

“Do you think he has left already?” she wheezed, and clutched his hand to pull herself along. Benoit could feel himself getting short of breath.

“I need to rethink cigars,” he coughed, and then they were bursting out of the building.

“Benoit, there!” Marta said, and now she was pulling him along. “Doctor Baker! Doctor Baker, wait!”

“Oh lord,” Benoit said, and clutched the cramp in his side. Marta got them to the doctor’s car where he had been frantically trying to get into his vehicle. “Doctor Baker, I do believe, Jesus give me a second, oof,” Benoit said, and put his hands on his knees while he tried to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” Marta asked, and put a hand on his back.

“Yeah, fine,’ Benoit said, and waved her off. After a minute he straightened out. “Doctor Baker, we believe that you-ah!”

Benoit staggered back, and held his chin where the good doctor had sliced him with a scalpel. He heard Marta give a terrified squeal when blood surged from between his fingers, and thought, dumbly, to himself that that had been incredibly close to his carotid, and wouldn’t that just be a peach for Ms. Cabrera to see two different people die by a sliced carotid.

“She was going to take everything from me, I’m not going to let you do it either,” he snarled, and lunged.

And Marta hit him over the head with his own briefcase. Peter stumbled, dazed, just long enough for Benoit to grab his wrist. He twisted it viciously until Dr. Baker shouted, and dropped the scalpel. Benoit let go of his own face so he could wrestle the man to the ground..

“Oh good, you got him. Fuck, your face!” Mr. Farmer said as he finally was able to catch up with them.

“I’m alright. If you would be so kind to take Dr. Baker into custody,” Benoit said, and passed hold of the man over to the officer.

“Let me see, sit down,” Marta ordered.

“Gladly,” Benoit said, and sorta… collapsed to his ass. Marta plucked the handkerchief from his pocket, and pressed it to the cut. He noticed she was trembling. He distantly heard someone call for a doctor. “I am feeling a bit whoozy, Ms. Cabrera.”

“You’re fine,” she said. He started to nod, but she made him hold still. His eyes slid to the side, and he squinted at the briefcase.

“Does he have a head wound?” he asked.

“No,” Mr. Farmer said after checking.

“There is blood on the corner there. That is your murder weapon. That and the bee,” Benoit said. “Isn’t it, Doctor Baker.”

“Could you please stop talking,” Marta said.

“You met Ms. Kind when she brought her mother in for treatment. She must have been grateful, I’m sure, that you took such excellent care of her mother. And then you started giving her expensive gifts, and helping her out. She realized she needed you to marry her. Either way she started poking holes into condoms. Not all of them, maybe one in three like what we found at her apartment. She fell pregnant. But you would not let her cost you everything. You told her she needed to get an abortion, I imagine. Told her you wouldn’t leave your wife. Maybe this was the first time she heard about her, and maybe she said she was going to tell her. You couldn’t let that happen. So when she turned around you hit her with the briefcase. There is blood splatter on the ceiling, Marta and I saw it early Mr. Farmer, if you care to look. I am sure the doctor is quite good at removing blood from things, but he missed that bit.”

“Blanc,” Marta said with warning in her tone.

“This is the most important part Watson,” Benoit said. She clamped a hand down onto his shoulder when he tried to stand back up since really there was a way it should be done, and it was on one’s feet. But he decided not to push her too hard on that particular point. “Peter realized he couldn’t get charged with murder. It would do the same thing as if she had survived, and gone to the police. Or if her death overtly looked like a murder. So he staged the crime scene. Or maybe he saw the bee first. The medical examiner would be able to tell if it was the head trauma or the anaphylaxis that was the end to Ms. Kind. But he caught the bee that I’m sure came in with the flowers he had brought, and had it sting Ms. Kind. He made it look like she tripped on her way to her epipen, bunched up the carpet, put some of her blood on the corner of the television stand, all that. I had thought it odd that there had been blood on the corner of the stand when she had the wound on the back of her head, and it seems that is why. But she could have been saved, Doctor Baker, had you called for help. But you didn’t, and she died..”

“Is that true, Peter?” Mrs. Baker said. She had joined them somewhere along the way in Benoit’s explanation.

Peter didn’t answer, and Mr. Farmer started to read him his rights.

“I am feeling mighty dizzy,” Benoit said.

“Let's get you up into the wheelchair to get you some stitches,” Marta said, and helped Benoit do so. Seemed that hospital staff had arrived to help.

Somewhere along the way she had taken his hand again, and was squeezing it terribly. Benoit was sure, now that the adrenaline was wearing off and he was really starting to feel the wound, that he was holding hers just as tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t my favorite chapter ngl 
> 
> There is a mouse in my apartment send help...


	9. Un Goût de Menthe

“Wow, you could have died,” Alice said. “Though you are lucky you got cut otherwise we would have thought you guys were up to something else. Even then, I’m only mostly convinced.”

“Alice,” Marta said even as Benoit chuckled. “Knock it off, you are encouraging her.”

“I’m just laughing because if she keeps it up she might just get coal for Christmas,” Benoit said, and sipped his water. They had returned to the estate two days after the arrest of Doctor Peter Baker. It had been late when they had finally gotten out of the hospital, Benoit three stitches richer, and had spent the night at his townhouse. He had never been happier that he had kept a bed in his study for when he spent late nights there since his couch was so uncomfortable. The next day they had spent doing Marta’s shopping. Benoit had done a bit of his own with her help, and a little without. They had had dinner at his favorite restaurant since he didn’t have much in the way of food at his house (considering he was intending to be gone for an extended stay and all).

So, they had been back at the estate for a little less than an hour thus far. Immediately Mrs. Cabrera had fussed over them both, gotten them some leftovers heated up, and poured them both lemon mint water. It had taken a fair amount of reassurance from all of them to send Mrs. Cabrera off to do her own shopping.

“Santa loves me,” Alice said with a raised chin.

“Santa has mercy, but I might not,” Benoit said, and saw her eyes light up.

” _You_ got me something?”

“It would be incredibly bad form to have gotten something for everyone else, and leave you out.”

“Are they in your car?”

“I’ve already hidden them Alice, when I went to use the bathroom,” Marta said. Alice scowled.

“I will find them.”

“I doubt that very much,” Marta replied, seemingly horribly pleased with herself.

“So, is this going to be a thing from now on?” Alice asked with a gesture between the two of them.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, running off and solving mysteries?”

“Probably,” Marta said. Benoit raised an eyebrow at her. “Don’t look at me like that. If you are going to be getting hurt on the job it’s best that I am there, don’t you think?”

“I’m certainly not going to complain. Though I would have thought you would prefer to be around here,” Benoit replied.

“It was nice to get away from Alice for a little,” Marta said.

“You better throw up right now,” Alice replied, and scowled when Marta held her lunch just fine. “Brat.”

He was smiling, but trying not to make it too obvious how pleased as punch it made him at the prospect of having a partner. He had never given it much thought before, but hadn’t ever really had someone he wouldn’t mind spending a large amount of time with. But Marta was easy to be around, and already proved herself as a competent assistant. And yes, her being a registered nurse certainly didn’t hurt her argument. It wasn’t, after all, the first time Benoit had been hurt on the job. Just the first in a while.

He winced a little to think of her seeing some of the scars he had. “You think this is going to ruin my lovely features, by the way?” he asked, and she smacked his hand away when he went to touch the stitches.

“Nah, it will make you look more roguishly handsome,” Alice said. “Oh, and speaking of handsome. Marta. Oh my god. Did you _see_ Mathew? Could you have hired anyone more good looking? I wonder if he had lunch….”

“Oh, bring him something if you are that worried,” Marta said.

“I would have thought you missed me, and would want to spend time with me now that you are back.”

“I love you, but you are very loud.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Nate, Nora,” Alice called to the dogs. “Wanna go for a walk? Walkies? I’ll ride back with Mama when she gets back so you guys have plenty of time to wrap my gifts,” Alice sang, grabbed some tupperware from the fridge (Mrs. Cabrera meal prepped like a woman possessed), and danced out.

“Are you alright with me tagging along?” Marta asked when they heard the herd of elephants that was her sister and the dogs go out the door.

“Why ever would I have a problem with it, Watson?”

“Just wanted to make sure.”

“Why do you really want to come along? I would have thought you had your fill of murder plots,” he said, more seriously. She shrugged one shoulder, and rolled her glass between her hands. Not lying, but getting her thoughts in order. Then she looked at him, and saw him, and he saw her too.

“It’s hard, being here. Not because of Alice, at least, not all the time. But I can’t be a nurse any more, not like I was, it’s… it’s too much,” Marta said. He held a hand out to her, and she took his. He gave hers a squeeze before releasing her again. He wondered if Harlan had considered the long term impact of his suicide for Marta. Then, he decided, probably not. Harlan would have thought he had limited time of clear thinking, and his mind would have been bent on saving Marta from conviction. “But I’m also not good at sitting around doing nothing. Harlan’s lawyer, Alan Stevens, helped me set up a couple of charity events in the last year for a couple of things. Namely a few auctions with proceeds going to causes I approved of where we sold off some of Harlan’s more...questionable home decor.”

“Please tell me someone suitably weird got the puppets.”

“I think it is weirder that they seemed perfectly normal,” Marta said, and they both laughed. “But I can only do so many of those high society things. And forget about getting a job around here. The Thrombeys would be on me in an instant. Walt especially.”

“Have they given you much trouble?”

“No, not really. I get cards from Meg now and then, and get regular updates about Wanetta from the nurses I hired for her. Linda has stayed a few times, when she has come to visit Harlan’s grave, and I’m fine with that. She is respectful. We mostly all stay out of each other’s way, though my mother has talked to her a bit. I think the fact that I mostly left the study, and Harlan’s room alone helps. I feel kinda bad for her out of all of them. She lost everyone.”

“She still is well off.”

“That doesn’t mean she is happy,” Marta said. “She divorced Richard, and Ransom is in prison. I don’t know if she visits him, or talks to him. I don’t ask. And obviously Harlan…” Benoit nodded along to Marta talking. The two of them considered their plates, and the sad fate of Linda Drysdale née, and once more, Thrombey. Then Marta shook herself a little. “Richard and Walt are the worst though. They aren’t allowed onto the property at all. Walt is still mad about Blood like Wine, and Richard has become an echo chamber for him since the divorce. I think Walter also is okay with Richard being there since Linda refused to give either of them money. I haven’t even heard from Joni aside from a wedding invitation, and some postcards from her honeymoon in India.”

“I got some of those as well,” Benoit chuckled. “Glad she landed on her feet I suppose.”

“I just hope she found someone a little more grounded than her.”

“Or just as able as dealing with her as someone can be.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a stretch. Then Marta seemed to rally herself. “Well, want to wrap some presents?”

“I can’t believe you aren’t going to procrastinate it until December 23rd like the rest of us Americans.”

“I am Cuban American, and there is no time like the present for the presents. Also Alice becomes a real homebody this time of year in the hopes of finding out what I got her,” she said, and stood. Benoit shook his head a little. Between the two of them they got the dishes washed in short order. “I didn’t see anything that could have been for me, by the way,” Marta said as they headed up the stairs. Benoit noted the force casualness of her voice, and laughed.

“So Alice is not the only present thief? I had your gift in my suitcase. I’m hoping you’ve already hid mine separately since, unlike you two degenerates, I would like to open mine on Christmas.”

“Yes, it is somewhere else. You better not ‘detective’ it,” she said. Benoit shook his head.

“My impeccable honor has been smeared by the very suggestion, Ms. Cabrera.”

“Then forget I suggested it. I put them in here.”

“This is a wall--oh,” Benoit said, and then shook his head with a lopsided smile. He had a momentary wish that Trooper Wagner had been here to tell them what book the hidden door was from. “I’m not sure why I am surprised.”

“This actually was my room when I had to spend the nights here when Harlan was sick. It didn’t get used often. But when I got the estate I didn’t want to tell Mama and Alice about it, so I made it into this.”

“I like it,” Benoit said. Marta clicked on the overhead light. There were two well loved, but plush, armchairs, several bookshelves over flowing, and a low table. One of the chairs had a footrest in front of it, and the other had their shopping bags. There was also a rug on the floor that made him glad he had taken off his shoes. He was sure if dirt ever got into it that it would be lost to the density till the rapture.

“Do you have a preference for the wrapping you use?”

“Not at all, ladies choice,” he said, and helped her move the bags. She gave him the paper with reindeers in sweaters while she took the one with Feliz Navidad and cactuses dressed like Santa. Benoit pulled out his ipod while she started unloading things, and set up his musicals playlist to play so they wouldn’t work in silence. Though, he did imagine that it wouldn’t have been uncomfortable if they had. It would probably be companionable if anything.

The thought made him smile, but his next made him smile wider; she would be great to have future investigations with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's fall and the time of year where I like to curl up under 100 blankets and watch movies.
> 
> I will leave my cocoon to update for you, though. You're welcome.


	10. Avec des Amis

It wasn’t quite Christmas yet, maybe a week off, when Lt. Elliot reached out to invite them to dinner. It was the only thing that could possibly have gotten them all into a car during the dead of a New England winter, but they piled into the car nonetheless. It was Alice’s as it had the best handling in the winter, and it was lightly snowing out. Benoit’s cut was all healed up, and scarred over. It was just a thin silvery line less than half an inch long along his jaw on the right side.

“Is it supposed to get worse?” Alice asked. Mrs. Cabrera answered in Spanish, and the two started talking to each other that way.

“You don’t speak Spanish do you?” Marta asked.

“Nah, French, and regretted it mostly since.”

“Well, I guess between the two of us we have three languages covered if it ever comes up.”

“Four, actually. I know a bit of German too. Like enough to get by, not that I use it much. I had a case in Belgium, and needed to learn enough to move about. And also I might have ended up stranded in the middle of nowhere, but that is neither here nor there.”

“How many countries have you been to?”

Benoit thought for a minute. “23? No, 24. Not all for work, some for fun.”

“Favorite?”

“I quite liked Switzerland. The alps were wonderful to see.”

“Where are we going Marta?” Alice asked.

“A restaurant called Buttercup? Here, give me your phone and I can put it in the gps.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Marta said, and leaned to get Alice's phone. It brought her into Benoit’s space, and he smelt her flora perfume. It was so subtle that if she wasn’t close to him he never noticed it, and when she withdrew it faded. As such, he continued to forget to ask her what it was. It was so subtle he wondered if it was perfume, even, or just lotion or body wash.

It was nice.

Buttercup was also nice. It seemed to be a slow night, probably because of how close it was to the holidays, but it was a nice place.

“Benoit!”

“Trooper Wagner, as I live and breathe,” Benoit laughed as the excitable man jumped up to greet him. He met Wagner with a hand outstretched which Wagner grabbed with both of his. The man positively had stars in his eyes.

“Hey Marta.”

“Hello Elliott. This is my Mama, and my sister Alice,” Marta said, and they all exchanged pleasantries. After they finished with the social niceties, the two men led their group over to the table they had reserved. Before they got into anything too serious, they all ordered their food. Even then, the topic of conversation stayed relatively light despite Benoit noticing how tense the two officers were, and how Wagner was slightly muted. He did seem to be hitting it off with Alice though.

Benoit found himself sat between Wagner and Marta with the other three on the other side. Elliott was opposite to Wagner.

“So,” Elliott said, and they all quieted down to listen. “We have some news.”

“Yeah?” Marta asked. She was leaning forwards, and Benoit found himself mirroring her.

Elliott drummed his fingers on the table, and looked rather like he had eaten a lemon. “Ransom Drysdale,” he said, and Benoit heard Marta’s sharp intake of breath. “Is dead.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Thank god,” Alice said, and her mother smacked her. “What? The guy tried to kill Marta. Sorry not sorry i don’t feel bad about it.”

“How? When?” Marta asked. She was very, very still.

“He was stabbed in a prison fight. We don’t know who, or why. He made a few phone calls before, and we are still working through them. We probably won't have answers until after the New Year.”

“Marta?” Mrs. Cabrera said, and reached out to touch her hand. Marta shot up from the chair before she could.

“Excuse me,” she said, strained, and fled for the door.

“Marta!” Alice called.

“I’ve got it,” Benoit said. “Stay in here where it is warm,” he added when Mrs. Cabrera started to get up. Benoit grabbed his and Marta’s jackets, and followed after her. He caught up to her across the street.

“I don’t know why I am crying,” she babbled when he pulled up beside her. She was shaking like a leaf in a storm, and Benoit knew it wasn’t just from the cold.

“Because you have a kind heart,” he said, and draped her coat around her shoulders. She let out a sob, and his arm joined the coa. With no coaxing on his part she turned to press her face into his shoulder. It was the most natural thing in the world to wrap his arms around her, and hold her.. They were getting the odd look from some fellow pedestrians, but Benoit just shook his head when a couple approached. “Just bad news,” he mouthed, even if he wasn’t sure if the news was completely bad. It just near broke his heart that Marta was sparing the energy for a waste of space such as Ransom Drysdale, but he also wasn’t surprised. “Do you want to go to the car?” he asked into her hair.

“No, I don’t know. I don’t know what I want,” she said.

“Alright,” he said back. He saw the rest of their party exiting the restaurant. “Do you want your family to come over here?” Marta didn’t answer right away, but then nodded. Benoit waved them over, and transferred Marta to her mother when she joined them. Marta practically collapsed into her mother’s arms.

“We’ll go to the car, keep her warm,” Alice said. “I think they had more to say.” Benoit nodded, and watched them go. Once he saw they were at the car (they had been fortunate to get parking nearby) he pulled a cigar from his pocket. Now that he wasn’t holding Marta he could feel the damp spot on the front of his shirt, so he closed up his coat.

“I would have thought she’d been relieved,” Wagner said.

“Nah, not Marta,” Elliot replied. “Want to take a walk Benny?”

“Sure,” he said, watched the car for a moment more, and then turned to follow them. They walked towards the nearby park. “What else is there?”

“We didn’t want to say it in front of all of them, but we think Drysdale was being extorted.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, apparently he had had several run ins with a gang on the inside. There is a file on it that we can send to you,” Trooper Wagner said.

“I’d appreciate that. Was he being blackmailed, or did he owe them money?”

“We don’t know as of yet. We know his mother wasn’t helping him out if she even knew. We uh… we had the unpleasant job of informing her.”

“We aren’t really sure how she took it, to be honest.” Wagner rubbed his neck. “She seemed, I don't know, smaller.”

“Richard, on the other hand, was apocalyptic. Alan Stevens reached out to us. He and Walter had been talking to him to see if they could get him to contact Marta to get money for Ransom.”

Benoit shook his head, and blew out smoke. “She would have given it to him if he had really needed it.”

“We know. Apparently Harlan had left really detailed instructions for him on how to handle his family after his death,” Elliott said. “That was one of the things, to not let her give them any money. Aside from something like with what she set up for Meg and Wanetta.”

“I wonder if he knew what a shit show it would all be,” Wagner said.

“I feel, sometimes,” Benoit said at length, “that he didn’t think about it. That he considered the end of his life the end of the book, all the strings would be tied up, and there wouldn’t be any conflict after that. It’s how his books worked, after all. Not that that makes him a bad person I guess. We are all a bit tunnel visioned with our own mortality.”

“Aside from Marta,” Elliott said. Benoit hummed in agreement, and rolled his cigar between his teeth. “She gunna be okay?”

“In a few days, maybe. I am sure she is feeling guilty.”

“It’s not her fault. Ransom was a shit, and it caught up to him,” Wagner said.

“I wasn’t saying it was. But if I know Marta she will blame herself.”

“Do you? Know her, that is,” Elliott asked, and squinted at Benoit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve been staying with them. I heard about your adventure in Boston.”

“Ah, well,” Benoit said, and kicked at some snow on the path they were on. “I think she is a bit lost with her new found fortune, and needed something to do. And she was with me at the time.”

“Sure, sure. You know how long you are staying with them?”

“Not for sure. Until this whole mess is cleared up, certainly. And she has expressed interest in assisting me in cases.”

:”Lucky,” Wagner said, and Elliott rolled his eyes at him.

“What makes you think he agreed?”

“Come on,” Wagner said, and it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“I did agree. She handled herself well in Boston, and even here in her own mystery. Sure she was detrimental to my own investigation to begin with, but we only discovered the truth in the end thanks to her.”

“I bet we could go to the press with that and get a big ol’ payday,” Elliott said, and Wagner snorted. “But you really think she will be okay?”

“I guess it depends on if the Thrombeys come calling or not,” Benoit admitted. “If not, then yeah, she will be fine sooner rather than later. But if they come to bother her I can’t be sure.”

“We’ll swing by Walter’s again to give him encouragement to not to do that. Not sure about Linda.”

“I’m in the same boat. She seemed to be getting along well enough with the Cabrera’s until now, all things considered. Marta said she had stayed at the estate a few times. Father’s Day, for example.”

“That’s rough,” Elliott said. “We’ll keep you in the loop, and send that file off to you, yeah?”

“Thank you my friend,” Benoit said, and shook his hand.

“You keep us in the loop too, yeah?”

“Sure thing. Happy holidays gentlemen,” Benoit said, shook Wagner’s hand again, and started off back towards the car. He found a cigarette dispenser on his way, and deposited the end of his cigar in it.

The three Cabreras were huddled up in the backseat, so Benoit got in the drivers. He raised an eyebrow at Alice, and she nodded her agreement to him driving. Marta was leaned against her mother’s shoulder, crying silently, and staring into space. Benoit put the car into gear while simultaneously wishing he was able to throttle some sense into Ransom Drysdale before this all had happened so it wouldn’t have. Maybe he would have never met Marta should he had been able to alter the past, but surely that would have been a small price to pay to protect her from her current pain.

Ah well, nothing he could do about the past. She had his support for the foreseeable future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late just everything is hard, and I am so discouraged in basically every aspect of my life
> 
> Also I’m very small and don’t have any money so you can imagine the kinda stress I’m under


	11. Le Deuxième Mystère

Benoit found Marta in the library. She was curled up on one of the armchairs, and had her ‘my house my rules my coffee’ mug in her hands. He assumed it had tea in it. She was staring at the circle of knives. It had been a couple of days since the announcement of Ransom’s death, and Marta was still struggling with the guilt. Even having some of the distant relatives over didn’t fully cure her of it.

“We were friends, to begin with,” Marta said, quietly. Benoit sat in a chair near her. “When I first started working here, Ransom and I were friends. Of course, that ended when I wasn’t new and shiny any more, and didn’t play games like Harlan. Even then, I never wanted... .” She shook her head, and looked down into her mug.

“Marta,” Benoit said. She rubbed her eyes, and looked at him. “You did not kill Ransom.”

“If I had called the ambulance Harlan would be alive, and so would Ransom because he wouldn’t have gone to jail.”

“And if you had made the mistake?”

“Then I would be in jail, not him.”

Benoit nodded, and rubbed his mouth. “Marta… Have I told you about my father?”

“No,” she said, and tore her eyes away from the knives to look at him.

Benoit took out the coin, and rolled it over his knuckles, once, before flipping it up in the air and catching it. And then he held it out to her. Marta got up, and joined him on the couch. She looked it over. “I thought this was a quarter.”

“Nah, a Morgan Dollar darlin’. I’ve had that since I was sixteen.”

“Why?”

“Because my father died because of it,” Benoit said. Marta shot her eyes to his, and then looked back down at the coin with reverence. “When I was sixteen, I worked at a mechanic’s garage in my home town of Pearlington, Mississippi. Once upon a time I dreamed of racing cars, and thought that was a good place to start. My father, who was an officer of the law himself, that’s how he met Harlan after all, was picking me up at the end of the night. I didn’t have my own vehicle quite yet at that point. I was just finishing a gentleman’s car, and getting ready to send him along his way. And, mind you, this was a town so small on the banks of the Mississippi river that if three people left for the day it was a ghost town. I had never seen this man before.”

Benoit took out a cigar. He didn’t light it, but did chew on the end for a bit while he composed his thoughts. It had been… a while since he had thought about it.

“As I was saying, I was getting ready to send this guy out the door, and gave him his bill. He got out his wallet, and was a dollar short. He asked if I could cut him a break, but I couldn’t. But, honestly, I could have. I am sure I had the change that could have covered it. But I was full up on teenage pride. So the man, he was right angry at this point, told me he’d go on out and get it from his car. He was sure he had something after all.”

“This one?”

“No,” Benoit said, and took the coin back. He rolled it over his knuckles. “No, this was my father’s. Because the guy didn’t have a coin, and he saw my father. He asked him for a dollar. I’m not sure what happened from there, or why, but he ended up shooting my father. Of course, he wasn’t as good a shot as my father was. Got him in the shoulder. My father had his gun on him, and he didn’t miss. I heard the shots, and got out there in time to be with him before he bled out.”

“Mr. Blanc…”

Benoit tucked the coin back into his breast pocket. “It’s what got me into solving mysteries. See, no one knew who this man that killed my father was, and, for the obvious reasons, he wasn’t about to tell anyone. But there is a reason behind me telling you all about this, is that sometimes in this world bad things happen to good people. You will see that a lot as a private investigator. So, when something bad happens to a bad person like Ransom, and a good person, with a kind heart, like you comes out on top? It is like the universe course correcting to balance it all out.”

Marta was staring at him with her big brown eyes, and all the kindness and sympathy in the world, and Benoit smiled back at her. “It was a long time ago, darlin’.”

“Still…”

“I’ve made my peace with it,” Benoit said. Marta rubbed her eyes.

“So what, it is karmic justice that Ransom was killed?”

“I’m not saying yes or no to that. But I am saying I am glad it was him and not you. It’s just that, the truth of the whole matter is, if I had to pick between 100 Ransom Drysdales in the world or just the one Marta Cabrera I would pick Marta Cabrera.” He smiled a lopsided smile at her, and passed her his handkerchief.

“Always?”

“Every time,” he assured. She managed a watery laugh, and Benoit’s smile faded just a bit. Not because he was no longer happy, but because he was so focused on her. He knew that she still felt bad. “So, uh,” he said. He was unsure how she’d react. “I’ve received an email about a job. You can stay here, if--”

“No, I want to go.”

“We might not be back in time for Christmas.”

“All the more reason for me to go with you, so that you aren’t alone for it,” she said. Benoit rubbed his mouth again, and looked away. Because, damn, if it didn’t just tickle him pink that she wanted to make sure he wasn’t alone for the most wonderful time of the year, and damn if it didn’t also make him pleased as pie that she wanted to spend it with him.

“Your family won't be upset?”

“If anything it will thrill them,” she said with a snort.

“Oh, how so?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Why, feelin’ queasy?”

“Knock it off or you will be alone. Where is it anyways?”

“Alaska.”

“Oh shit,” Marta said. “Guess we better dress warm. Tell me about it?” she asked, and rested her head back on his arm. He had put it along the back of the couch at some point during their conversation.

“Well,” Benoit said, and tucked some hair behind her ear that had fallen in her face. “A man named George Galore reached out to me. His friend has been missing for a couple of days, and has offered quite a pretty penny to me for finding him. We’ll be heading to a small tourist town up in the interior of Alaska that sits right at the bottom of a glacier.”

“I’ve never seen a glacier before,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Well, sorry I won’t be bringing you to the most spectacular of them. This is an incredibly small one that has a colloquial name of Glacial Baby. Well, small as glaciers go I suppose. The town is just a handful of buildings, and is called Glacial Lake on account of the lake that is the main draw of the place. Prime fishing area from what I heard when the salmon are off running, and good for seeing wildlife. Though, I do rather hope the two of us don’t see much in the way of wild animals considerin’ bears are supposed to be hibernating and moose are mean son of… Well.”

“Noted, stay away from moose. Should I pack?”

“Are you sure you want to come?”

“Yes. I’d like to get away for a bit, pretend to ignore all of this.”

“That doesn’t seem like a healthy approach.”

“I’ll deal with it when we get back. But for now I’d like to set it aside for a bit.”

“Alright,” Benoit said, and straightened up. Having lost her pillow, she did as well. He patted her knee. “Go ahead and pack, I’ll arrange our travel. We’ll fly out of Boston so I can get my heavy winter gear.”

“I’ll let Mama and Alice know. Thank you, Benoit.”

“Ah shucks darlin’,” he said, and she headed off. He had to sit with it for a minute because he wasn’t sure she had called him by his name before, and it was such a nice sound in her accent. Then he shook himself, and headed up to his own room so that he could finalize the ticket plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are catching up to what I have written up already, and I have had negative time lately to add to it, so updates might slow down in a few weeks. Sorry about that everyone I'm trying my best.


End file.
